


Love Letters

by fantasticdrowse



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: 1971??, Love Confession, M/M, Rejection, Smile Era, drunk freddie, early seventies, freddie likes roger, i guess mary sort of doesn't exist, no mary austin, supportive but straight roger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 19:03:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19382857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasticdrowse/pseuds/fantasticdrowse
Summary: It's the early seventies and Queen is on the rise. Freddie Mercury and John Deacon have recently joined the band and Freddie has caught feelings for the drummer, and he finds out on accident. Rated Teen because of language and alcohol.





	Love Letters

Freddie sat down. The words to a new song hadn't come to him yet, although he knew the melody. He had completely run out of inspiration. He hummed the tune again to himself, willing every last sleep-deprived braincell of his to just _write_. Queen needed a hit, and he needed to write it. He tapped his fancy new pen against his head some more, maybe that could coax an idea out of him. 

Just as he was trying with everything to form one cohesive line, Roger walked in. He had a key. Of course Freddie had given him a key. 

"Mercury!" he shouted "We should go, Kensington is full!" 

For a moment Freddie didn't register what his band mate/stall co-owner had said. He was too focused on his blue eyes and blonde hair, blonde hair that was getting longer every day with bangs he had to push out of the way to see and it was the cutest thing when he pushed them back an-

"Freddie. Do you want a ride or not?" Roger broke the silence. "Y-Yes, I would like a ride, Mr. Taylor, if you don't mind."

His head was once again pulled back down to earth. Freddie pinched his thigh, swore it wouldn't happen again, and grabbed a jacket he saw on the floor, not caring who's it was. The two stepped outside to the decaying van and drove downtown to Kensington Market. Roger was correct, it was bustling.

"Damn it Rog- I won't have any clothes left at all by the time today's over." Roger considered this a moment, it was likely. At this rate, Freddie and Roger's combined share of clothes would be cut in half.

"Maybe not, but we'll have money!"

Freddie was okay with that and the two set down the things they could possibly sell for a couple bucks. He kept getting distracted by his smile, the way his eyes lit up at a joke, how his shirt looked so good- too tight on his skinny body. Roger knew he was gay, or that he liked men at least. I mean, it was obvious. Freddie looked down at his painted black nails (Brians were white) and his floral print jacket. Maybe everybody knew. And Freddie wasn't ashamed, per se, but he felt lost. He wanted to be himself without being stared at or labelled. He didn't want his attraction to men- his attraction to his _best fucking friend_ to define him. But he couldn't help it, the feeling he got when Roger walked or the drop in his stomach when the two were close. And Roger had seemed accepting when Freddie told him (the first person he ever told was Roger for fuck's sake!), maybe there was a small chance that he liked him back.

"Ey, Freddie. Can you take over? I'm going out." Freddie took a look at Roger, and then took a look at the blonde woman hanging on his shoulder.

_Of course. He gets dozens of girls every day. He's not a queer, and he could never like me_.

Freddie knew she and him were in the same situation, so overwhelmed with love for the drummer. He was crushed, he was devastated, but it was all worth it for the talks after rehearsal, the calls, the hugs. He nodded, that was all he could muster. 

 

So Freddie was back where he started. At that _fucking_ table trying to write that _fucking_ song. Minutes went by. Maybe hours. He couldn't tell. 

Fed up, Freddie lit a cigarette and thought. He erased whatever half-concept he had for that stupid song and wrote about how he felt. How crushed he was. The way Roger made him feel. He scribbled and he drew when necessary (words, he felt, couldn't suffice), and he had himself a goddamn masterpiece. A poem for the ages. A revolutionary piece of writing for this stupid boy he knew didn't like him. The stupid, normal, heterosexual, boy he fell for who also happened to be his best friend. He couldn't tell him. He couldn't tell Brian or John, it would tear Queen apart. He would ruin the one thing he knew brought Roger total happiness, music. 

He poured expensive alcohol, gifted to him from Roger, of course, into a cup and then threw the cup away and downed half the bottle. 

Hours passed and Freddie was absolutely shitfaced. Roger got home, a little tipsy, but cohesive, and took in the sight of the singer. 

"Freddie! Jesus Christ you drank half the fucking bottle!" 

"That's the point darling," a hazy Freddie replied. His head felt slow. "This is for you," he said and handed the paper to Roger. His brain was swarmed with alcohol. It was a mistake, he knew it once the paper left his hand, but the damage was done and Freddie wasn't in a position to argue. 

"Ah... Freddie. I-I don't feel that way about you. Sorry. You're my best friend and all, and I truly am sorry, but..."

"Of course. Whatever, Roger. I fancy you like mad. I'm not going to remember any of this, and you better not tell me about it." he slurred. Roger looked at him, shock still rolling off his body. 

"A-Alright, Fred. Things don't have to change between us."

Freddie was silent, and after a couple minutes and a couple tears were shed, Roger carefully put the other man into his bed, turned the light off, and left.


End file.
